The Choices We Make
by thetideisrising
Summary: Deadly assassin Jemma and her police commissioner husband Leo are caught in a controversy after their local bank catches on fire. fitzsimmons AU; no SHIELD
1. And So It Begins

** Hi everyone! I'm back with another AU, I promise there is not a sad ending this time, and if you haven't read my other AU, **_**For Whatever We Lose, **_**I suggest that you check it out. Also, unlike my last one, this is set over a period of 48 hours with multiple flashbacks throughout. Also, this will be a multi-chapter story. A version of this will be posted on my fictionpress and wattpad accounts. The links are on my profile. That version of the story will have a similar plot, but I am not sure how I will continue with it, and it will be posted on each respectable site after I am finished with it here. As a side note, the Jemma Simmons in this story is HARDLY alike the Jemma Simmons in the show. The Simmons in this story is darker, sinister, and very, very sexually advancing. As always, this story is rated T for adult themes (many mentions of sex) Enjoy!**

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_I woke up in somebody's arms_

_Strange and so familiar_

_Where nothing could go wrong_

_Barely alive or nearly dead_

_Somehow awake in my own bed_

_And there you are_

_Like a highway headed my way_

_Life is but a dream_

_I was shot down by your love_

_My angel in blue jeans – _**Angel In Blue Jeans – Train.**

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_Chapter 1: And So It Begins _

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_2009_

The first time he saw her, he could tell that she would be the most fascinating creature that he would ever lay his eyes on.

She was dressed as if she was a queen, her peter pan collared sweater and blue jeans accenting her short brunette hair framing her face. She looked like an angel to him as he stood in line at the In-and-Out.

He bumped into her as she was leaving accidently, and as he apologized she strung out a sequence of apologies in return, shaking him to the core. For one, she was British, English to be exact, and no one had been as polite as she had been since he took a job as a deputy in the police commissioner's office.

He opened his mouth to tell her this tidbit of information, but she flashed him a smile and left before he could say a word. She would haunt him for the next two weeks, her smile a ghost as he broke down door after door during the following two weeks.

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_Present Day (2015) _

Sitting at his desk, police commissioner Leopold Fitz smiled wistfully at a picture of the girl on his desk, her radiant wedding gown hugging her curves as he stared into her eyes with a passion that could not be defined. He knew the risks of having this picture in his office, it took just one criminal to find her, but he was not worried about his shinning jewel, she constantly was armed with knives strapped to her upper thighs and her boots and knew how to take care of herself.

He sometimes fantasied of their first meeting, and the chemistry that would follow when they met again. Instead of continuing this trip down memory lane, he opened the classified folder in front of him, scanning it for anything he did not already know.

The case was a long string of murders connecting members of the police to ones that they were closest with, something that had worried him tremendously at first, but he was soon reassured.

"You're a bloody idiot," she had spat out as he sucked on her collarbone. "I can't believe you think I can't take care of myself."

He had responded by nibbling her neck, a slight moan escaping her lips. "I never said tha' Jem. Ye know me, always lookin' after ye."

She rolled her eyes in response and grinded him. "Well in my family, if you didn't sleep with a gun under your pillow by the time you were five, than most likely you were dead."

He groaned in ecstasy as she hit a nerve, but tried to play it off as one of disgust.

She smiled coyly and pressed as much force as she could onto him. "I know that you are worried, but I can feel you about to burst through these damn jeans, so just fuck me now okay, and we can have this conversation later."

He had complied, and even now, as he was seated at his desk, the image of the tattoo on her hipbone, the _HH _branded onto her as a young girl, twisted his gut.

It was no secret between the two of them that her father ran the crime organization known as _Hydra, _the exact organization that he had sworn to destroy. She was the only child of Daniel Whitehall and his queen Raina, naturally raising her to become the heir. She had been betrothed to her father's older, right hand man, Jasper Sitwell, and her virginity was sold when she was just eleven to an older man known as John Garrett. She had been trained as an assassin since a young age, specializing in the art of seduction. Instead of following in the murderous footsteps of her parents, she elected to study biochemistry, murdering at night when she needed the money. When she had met him, she was sent to kill him, instead falling in love with him and marrying him. Though her father had disapproved at first, surprisingly it was her mother who had talked him down, and sooner than later he was signing a peace treaty to ensure the safety of the both of them.

She continued to use her status in _Hydra _as a tactical advantage during the missions she accompanied him on, the words "Hail Hydra," an international code that informed other cults of her status in the leading crime organization in the world.

He sighed, staring once more at the papers in front of him. She may know how to hold her own, but he still worried for her. They may have been ridiculously wealthy, this was the only time he thought that filthy rich would apply, and he could of hired bodyguards for her but she refused. She had always been a tricky little devil, preferring to do things on her own terms. When they first started dating he was never sure if she was going to kiss him or kill him, something that he soon realized he would never have to worry about again.

He was brought back again from his musings by his phone.

"This is Commissioner Fitz," he said automatically. "How may I be o' service?"

"Do you know how sexy you sound when you say that?" The chirpy voice of his wife asked.

"Jemma!" he exclaimed, quickly losing all formality. "What are ye doin' lass?"

He could envision her roll her eyes at him.

"I have a job tonight, love. I'm going to the bank to get my gold earrings. I just wanted you to know so that way you won't freak out when I come home with a hickey on my collarbone."

"Jemma I thought ye said tha' ye weren' takin' any more o' _those _jobs," he said with a growl.

"Calm down Fitzy, I'm not actually sleeping with him, _I would never do that. _I have to lead him into a bathroom to inject the drug, you should be happy that I'll be nice and wet for you tonight," she said cunningly.

He bit his tongue to stifle a groan.

"Dear God woman! Ye need ta learn when it's a good time. Work would no' coun' as one!"

She laughed melodically. "I know, love. I'm only teasing. Do you want anything from the grocery? I'm thinking about lasagna tonight. I'm going to get bread for tomorrow's lunch. What do you want?"

He grinned. "Prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella, and pesto aioli. Oh! Can ye ge' some o' tha' cookie dough?"

She pursed her lips on her side of the phone, carefully browsing the isle for any triple chocolate chip cookie dough. "I don't think they have any, love. I can get the ingredients to make it if you'd like."

His face lit up. "Yes please! I love ye, lass."

She chuckled. "I love you too, Fitz. I got to go, love. I'm almost done here and then it's just the bank."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Do ye have ta transmitter I designed on ye?"

"Of course Fitz!" she lowered her voice considerably. "You know that they wouldn't let a woman with knives strapped to her thighs in a grocery store otherwise, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes. "O' course Jem! I'm jus' makin' sure, ye know?"

She smiled. "Okay. I love you!"

"I love ye too, Jem," he replied.

She hung up a second later.

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_2009_

He never really liked clubs. His best friend Mack had dragged him to a club in the Upper East Side, swearing all over that he would have the time of his life. Women and men dancing seductively surrounded by people getting black out drunk was not his idea of fun.

This all changed however, when he laid his eyes upon her. It was the same girl he had seen in the In-and-Out, and he felt his chest flutter at the sight of her. She was clothed in a curvy gold dress; short hair in an up do and four inch heals paving a way for her tiny clutch. The dress was backless, and when she turned around he saw the top of a tattoo on her tailbone. The thing that intrigued him the most, however, were the gold earrings that dangled from her ears, the tips brushing against her cleavage when she bent over. They looked like they cost at least a thousand dollars, and he was not exaggerating.

When she came over to the bar to take a shot, he grabbed her hand in a bold move, signaling the bar tender to look him in the eye.

"I'll pay," he said simply.

She smiled gratefully at him. "Have I met you before?" she asked, her dark eyelashes batting rapidly.

His smile turned into a frown. "I ran into ye by accident, at ta In-and-Out two weeks ago."

Her face immediately contorted into one of apology. "I'm so sorry about that the other day! I was really in a rush."

He shook his head. "It's no problem. It was my fault anyway, really."

She nodded. "I'm Jemma. Jemma Simmons."

He smiled. "I'm Leo Fitz. Though mos' people call me Fitz."

The bartender interrupted him. "One shot of Tequila, yes?"

Fitz smirked. "Make it two."

Three rounds later they were on the dance floor, the pair dancing seductively. She was grinding the bulge in his pants like a professional, legs wrapped around his waist as he bucked his hips forward, dark clouds of lust circling in the pair's eyes. He leaned downward to capture her lips with his, hands pushing up her dress, her hand freeing him of his tight jeans. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, guiding him to her core with her hand. The first time they fucked each other was in a room full of people, their moans and groans drowned out by the pounding of the music.

Hours later, when the club was closing and Mack was calling for him, he slipped his number in her clutch, unaware that she had also written her number on a napkin and shoved it in his coat. They kissed a passionate goodbye, and returned to their solitary lives.

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_Present Day_

She had been in the car when the flashback had hit her; she was still amazed that she remembered that day, even if she had been intoxicated. She was supposed to kill him then, but couldn't bring herself to do so, instead going back to the mansion her father owned and getting in bed with Sitwell. She shuddered as the light turned green, desperately trying to banish those poisonous thoughts from her mind. It would cause her no good now.

She pulled in front of the bank, it was a huge building with safe deposit boxes, where she kept most of her valuables, seeing that she was in fact the heir to a trillionaire. If her house were to be robbed… well, she would still have the majority of her fortune.

She parked her car, quickly grabbing her purse before entering the building. Stalking up to the teller, she placed her handbag on the marble counter, flashing the concierge a grin.

"How may I help you?" The woman was Asian, her narrow eyes doing nothing to help her bland expression.

"I'm here to visit a safe deposit box of mine!" she exclaimed, allowing her annoyingly bubbly personality to come into play. She rolled her eyes. "See, my husband and I are have our sixth anniversary, and I just adore these gold earrings that my mother gave me. Since they are so expensive, I tend to keep them here." She winked. "It tends to spice things up when I wear them seeing as it's a real treat."

"Of course," the Asian woman deadpanned. "I'll just need your name and identification."

Jemma flashed her another smile. "Jemma Fitz. That's J-e-m-m-a F-i-t-z. I bet you already knew how to spell the last name though." She gave the woman a disbelieving look. "Although my husband had an intern who couldn't spell Fitz. Isn't that repulsive?"

She grinned internally. The woman had clearly become annoyed with her, and as she gave the woman her identification, she couldn't help the small smile that toyed at her lips.

"When was your birthday?"

She internally groaned. "September 11th 1987."

The woman eyed her warily. "Husband's full name."

Jemma pursed her lips. "Leopold Fitz."

She raised an eyebrow. "No middle name?"

Jemma smiled. "His mother thought Leopold was enough."

"And your full name?"

She inhaled. "Jemma Frances Fitz nee Simmons."

The woman glanced at her card once more. "I'll just need your thumb print please."

"Gladly." She pressed her left thumb in a pad of ink and carefully pressed it to a pad of paper. "You know, the last time I was here the security wasn't this… _demanding."_

At this the woman seemed to gain interest in the conversation.

"There have been a handful of robberies in this area, nothing on too large of a scale. We are just being precautious. I'm sure your husband is working on it as we speak."

Jemma nodded in understanding as the woman scanned her fingerprint for any differences from the one programmed in her computer.

"I hate having everything branded in technology these days," she grumbled. "I used to love the books."

Jemma was not sure if that comment was directed at her, naturally keeping her self quiet. According to her father, she had always been good at holding her tongue. Which was a compliment coming from someone who spewed nothing but nonsense throughout his career.

The woman motioned her to follow. She committed the pathway to memory; analyzing every corner and crevice that separated one hall from the next. The woman reached towards a vault, swiftly unlocking it and leading her inside. She led her to a box on the left, unlocking it and handing Jemma the gold earrings.

The ringing of her phone caught her off guard.

"This is Jemma Fitz, how can I help you?"

"Jems," the gruff voice of her husband barked.

"Leo?"

"Ye need ta get out o' there now."

Her eyebrows creased in alarm. "Why?"  
>Before he could respond, the flames swept into the room.<p>

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**Yay! Chapter one down! It would be great if you guys gave me some feedback; it's been a very long time since I have written a multi-chapter fic. Thank you all for reading and see you next chapter! – thetideisrising **


	2. And Then It All Burnt Down

** Hello loves and welcome back! I hope you guys enjoyed the first section of our chronicle. I am working on my first novel **_**Paths, **_**which will be constantly updated on both fictionpress and wattpad. As a side note, I enjoy putting quotes that reflect each chapter before one chapter begins. I do not own Marvel's Agents of SHIELD. **

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_"Ladies who play with fire must remember that smoke gets in their eyes." – _**Mae West.**

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Chapter 2: And Then It All Burnt Down

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_2009_

"What does it say?"

They were lying together in a mess of tangled limbs, his fingers gently kneading her scalp, as she pressed soft kisses to his cheek. They had started an intimate relationship five months prior to this moment and had spent the majority of each day with one another. She had hoped that Sitwell would not find out, there were only so many times that she could come home with her hair in a frenzy and clothes crinkled before he would begin to assume that something was going on.

He had become infatuated with her tattoos, the tiny _HH _branded on her hipbone, and the butterfly at the base of her neck on her back. She had covered the one on her tailbone with makeup, refusing every time he asked to see it. The quote was meaningful to her, and she did not want to tell someone who could potentially be in her life for such a short time. As they had grown however, she had found that he was the truest man she had ever met. She had grown up in the sex slave ring, her body put to use in ways she would never repeat. Her father was a murderous psychopath, her mother an interrogator who spoke multiple languages, her cunning smiles captivating even the most rebellious of warlords. What was she? Naught but a seducer, engineered to sleep with every available man. The one thing her parents could not control however, was her brain. Labeled a genius at a young age, she was fascinated with the world around her, the idea of being able to walk outside without glancing behind for fear of someone trailing her. She longed to fall asleep without a gun under her pillow and to not feel naked without her knives. She was lonely until he came along; she had everything she could have ever wanted yet she still yearned for something unseen. When he appeared she realized that the void in her heart had been filled, and now there was no turning back.

His kiss brought her back from her musings, the way he tangled his fingers in her hair sent jolts of pleasure down her spine. He pulled back, running a finger down her jawbone.'

"_We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry," _she said, tears lingering at the corners of her amber orbs. "There."

His grip on her tightened as she cried, her scars slowly beginning to fade.

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"Follow me!" Jemma said as she pulled a gun out of her handbag, shooting the door.

"Jemma!" Her husband groaned from over the phone. "Do ye think tha' was really necessary?"

"If you're planning on robbing us then you do realize that I will have to stop you," the Asian woman chided, the flames around the pair quickly closing in on them.

"Oh bloody hell!" Jemma exclaimed, thrusting the phone toward the Asian woman as Fitz cursed on the other side of the line. "What's your name?"

The woman raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Now you ask?"

Jemma huffed in response. "I'm trying to get us out of this bleeding room thank you very much, and I need you to stay on the phone with that git until I do so."

"Melinda Coulson," she said into the phone, ignoring Jemma's dramatic eye roll.

"Are ye related ta Phil?" Fitz asked.

"Yes, he's my husband."

_"Melinda watch out!" _Jemma cried, jumping on her to shield her from the impending bullets.

Loading her gun, she fired at the entrance, two men immediately falling, a third stumbling. She grabbed the phone from Melinda's ear, pressing it to hers as the former wailed in pain.

"Fitz, where the bloody hell are you?" she growled. "I've got a man down and I've been hit, luckily it's away from any major arteries, but the blood loss should begin to affect my stamina shortly."

"Are ye hurt Jems?" he asked. "I'm about ta enter ta fron' o' ta building now, do ye wan' me ta call an ambulance?"

She fired another shot, hitting the man in between the eyes. "Don't worry about me, I've been in worse shape, its Melinda, she's barely holding on." She readjusted the phone, firing once more before glancing at Melinda. "I think I can manage to stop the bleeding of her aorta with a tampon but I don't have anything to use in case we need to revive her. The closest AED has already burned."

She groaned in frustration, quickly ripping her handbag open and unsheathing a tampon, swiftly pressing it to the bleeding with a force to be reckoned with. She ran a palm through her hair, quickly detangling her curls.

"Melinda," she said quietly. "Tell me about your family."

The woman in question winced, her lower lip trembling. "I've been married for twenty-six years," she whispered hoarsely. "I met my husband at a Cello concert," she began, her face contorting into a look of pain. "He was engaged to one of the cellists, my good friend Audrey. We sat at the same table and watched her, slowly sipping wine. The way he stared at her, oh god were they in love. We exchanged numbers, agreeing that we both wanted to see a gallery at the local museum." She paused, slowly taking a breath. "Three days later I got a call from Phil, saying that Audrey was dead and we were going to have to take a rain check. We didn't see each other for a while; he was still too in love with Audrey to think of anyone else. We met again at a small coffee shop near the police station, and we hit it off right away. We were married two years later, and three years after that, our daughter was born." Her eyes started to glaze.

"Fitz, where the bloody hell are you!" she growled into the long-forgotten phone.

"Outside tha' bank. I donne think tha' this is arson, Jems. It looks like a bombing." He huffed in frustration. "Where are ye? I've got medical 'ere waitin' for ye."

"I'm in the private vaults. Fitz, I need you." Her voice, pleading. "Melinda love, tell me about your daughter? What is her name?"

"_Jemma!" _

She dropped her phone, her husband's voice rattling her.

"Her name is Skye," Melinda said, her eyes distant. "She is so good with computers, and is the most beautiful thing in the world."

"Fitz!" she screamed. "I'm in here!" Her eyes widened in alarm. "Stay with me Melinda, come on tell me more about Skye. How old is she? What does she like to do on the weekends?"

Melinda violently coughed, blood erupting from her lips. "I-I-"

Fitz burst in twenty-one seconds later, his beloved wife covered in another woman's blood as she cradled a corpse to her chest.

Tears streaking down her face, she gasped. "She's dead; two bullets to the aorta. She had a daughter, Fitz; a proper, family. Why do all the good ones always suffer the worst fates?"

He slowly removed his cap, the flames dancing around the edge of the room a reminder to him that she could have shared the same fate. He grabbed her arm, swiftly yanking her up.

"We need ta ge' ou' o' here, _now." _

All she could do was nod as he led her out the door.

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_2010 _

"_Shit," _Jemma cursed, the handbag on her arm flailing as she arrived at her target's house.

She had been at Fitz's house that night, prepping him for meeting her mum the next day when she realized that she had a job tonight. She hated these kinds of jobs. She was to search her target's home for any information related to Abu Sayyaf, a terrorist group funded by her father at risk of being exposed due to a few NSA members. When the group leader requested a prostitute, Jemma was immediately assigned the job.

The job was simple. She would spike his drink with a serum that was made to kill him within twenty minutes, and when the autopsy was conducted the specialists would determine that he suffered a massive heart attack, killing him instantly.

She knocked on the door, her long trench coat concealing her scandalous lingerie. Her hair was in an up do, her lips a crimson red. Fitz had massaged her shoulders and combed her hair, and as the man answered the door and lead her inside, all she could think about was the touch of his fingers on her shoulders and the way he lightly toyed with her curls.

"You're late," the man said, his voice a perfect American accent but Jemma's sharp hearing detected traces of Turkish.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," she responded with mock sympathy in a perfect American accent. "I was a little swept away by a previous appointment."

"Your handler is here," he said, a look of intrigue in his emerald eyes.

"Really?" she asked in faux surprise.

When it had become clear that Dr. Whitehall and his lovely queen would have no more children, Bobbi Morse was assigned the job of protecting their only heir. She accompanied Jemma everywhere, her trained eyes seeking out assassins in places Jemma would have never thought to look. She was the closest thing Jemma had to a friend, and she trusted Bobbi more than she had ever trusted her parents. Bobbi was her connection to the outside world, the only reason she was assigned this job was because Jemma's father had leverage on her and would destroy her life otherwise. The two girls were inseparable; Bobbi was the only one to know of Jemma's scandalous affair with the nosy police commissioner who constantly unraveled fleet, after fleet of her father's most precious resources.

"I'm glad you're here now kid," Bobbi said, her voice replicating one of a person on the Jersey Shore. "If you didn't show up I would have had to pleasure him myself." She smacked her lips as she chewed gum, her brunette wig framing her features.

"I promise it won't happen again, madam," she replied, a flash of shame crossing her eyes.

"Good. Now, Jonathan, I need you to pay upfront, a lot of clients have been neglecting to pay the proper amount of money recently, and I find that rather appalling. So money, please."

Jonathan nodded in agreement. "Let me get my wallet, hold on one second ladies…"

As he walked into the other room, Jemma quickly reached inside her front pocket, slipping a tiny bottle out before pouring it into his whiskey glass. She made small talk with Bobbi, her eyes lingering towards the hallway.

"And then she said that I was the slut!" Bobbi said in mock uproar as Jonathan walked into the room.

Jemma froze as she saw what he was holding.

A gun nimbly between his fingers, he pointed it directly at Jemma.

"Ihre Dynastie endet hier wertlos Schlampe," he cried as he pulled the trigger.

"_No!" _Jemma cried as Bobbi launched on top of her, blood soaking through her raunchy clothes as the bullet met its mark.

"Jemma," Bobbi croaked, as she cradled her head. "Run and remember your roots."

She died four seconds later.

"No!" Jemma sobbed, and before she even realized what had happened, a knife was implanted in Jonathan's chest.

Sitwell found her there two hours later, corpses surrounding the young woman as she held onto Bobbi's lifeless body. Her father punished her without mercy, inflicting new wounds that would never completely heal and bruises that would remain for months afterwards. Out of all of her trauma she realized one thing, if Leopold Fitz died she would not be able to move on, no matter the consequences.

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_Present Day_

"Jems," Fitz whispered quietly as he cradled her in his arms, her face buried in his chest.

"What?" she asked, venom behind her usually calm voice.

"I ran some specs on tha bombing, and I donne think ye are gonne like tha results."

She instantly shot up, hair falling around her swollen eyeballs. "Tell me who they are, Fitz. I'm going to kill those sons of bitches who murdered that woman." Her face softened. "She did not deserve to die."

"Ye are right," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her forehead as his calloused fingers massaged the worry lines off of her face.

He wasted a moment to glance at her in the moonlight. Even if she was crumbling in his arms she was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and even though it was difficult for most of the people in her profession to accept, she was the kindest, most compassionate person he had ever met as well.

He inhaled, his sapphire eyes focusing on her amber orbs.

"Tha debris match bombs known ta be used by Abu Sayyaf," he said quietly, wincing as she stiffened in his grasp.

Her wails of agony and anger filled the house for the next two hours.

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**I am fluent in both German and English, so sometimes I will use German as a language that Jemma is very familiar with. The line I used above means, your dynasty ends here you worthless bitch. So what is everyone thinking so far? Love it? Hate it? Don't really have a preference or are too lazy to comment? Either way it's all good. Shout out to anon for being the first and only reviewer. To answer your pleas, yes I will be updating often as I am in love with this plot and cannot put it down to save my life. Thank you all for reading, as always. Cheers! –thetideisrising xx**


	3. And It's Like A Goddamn Tragedy

** I'm back yet again everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying their holiday weekend (in the U.S that is.) I have decide that now is the time to get ahead on this story, so if you are wondering why the heck I said this if I posted on Tuesday or something, it's because I wrote this way before then. On to the story!**

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"_Hide from the mirror, the cracks and the memories. Hide from your family, they won't know you now." __**– **_**Muse**

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Chapter 3: And It's Like a Goddamn Tragedy

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_2010 (one week prior to Bobbi's Murder) _

"You are keeping something from me."

Seated on a bench covered in ivy in her private courtyard, Jemma glanced over her shoulder. The red gown she was wearing matched her rosy lips; her long curls dangling off of her shoulders, ruby earrings accenting her choker.

Her mother stood behind her, short dark curls falling to her shoulders. She was clothed in a dark purple gown, amethyst jewelry accenting her light nails.

"I would do no such thing," she responded.

Her mother circled around to face her, slapping her soundly across the cheek. "Do not use false speech," she chided.

"Hail mother-mine!" Jemma said automatically. "I am your heir, I am bound by your rules and I will not forsake them." She bit her lip. "Hail Raina-queen! Hail Hydra!"

Her mother smiled warmly. "Good darling. Let us try this again. You are keeping something from me."

She inhaled sharply, her mother sitting down beside her, taking her right hand in hers. "I am seeing someone," she said, her eyes quickly flooding with fear.

"Oh."

Jemma nodded. "Yes."

Raina's eyebrows creased, slight wrinkles forming around her dark eyebrows. "I was aware of your distaste for Captain Sitwell, however I did not believe that you would act upon it. Who is he? If you wanted someone else, I could have convinced your father to promise you to Ward, he was always such a promising soldier."

"No mother-mine, it is far worse then that."

Her mother inhaled sharply. "Tell me."

Jemma nodded stiffly. "Remember that deputy from the police department that I was sent to kill."

Her mother nodded, eyes twinkling. "Yes, he just barely avoided your attack."

"I did not attempt to murder him, mother-mine. I fell in love with him instead."

The silence that followed could have been sliced with a knife.

"I would like to meet him," her mother said after a while. "I have never truly been in love, and I would like to see what it looks like. You must tell him, though. Tell him of your past. If he stays then you have found the one."

Jemma nodded in surprise. She was not sure how this was going to play out.

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Jemma cleared her throat as she approached the front gate to her childhood hell.

"Captain Sitwell," she said coldly. "I am here to visit my father."

His smile was sinister, and had it not been for the deal made long ago to keep Fitz as far away from this place as possible, he would have punched him in the face.

"Anything for you, _promised." _

She nearly vomited.

In total honesty, she associated her family with a tragedy. They were all extremely cunning and heartless, and none of them really cared for her or any of the other people that made up a part of her life. As long as their only heir was secure her father never even glanced her way. Her mother was different, but she was never the emotional support that Jemma needed. She could never tell Raina about a nasty break-up or a failed test at school for risk of her mother sending a team to assassinate whoever made her unhappy. Her only true friends were Bobbi and her husband Hunter, but even though Bobbi was still there for her after Hunter was brutally murdered by Jemma's own betrothed, she was never really the same. It was almost a relief when Bobbi was murdered that night five years ago; it saved her form a large amount of unnecessary pain.

Shaking her head, she was lead up the grand staircase in her family mansion, the ballroom directly in front of her watchful eyes. There they sat, her Father and Mother upon their black thrones with dazzling jewels outlining their personas. Her mother in a sapphire blue dress with sapphires embedded in her hair and her father in a black suit with a white tie, his unnerving gaze fixated on her as she walked through the room.

"Elizabeth Whitehall," she said, disgust carefully hidden in her voice. "At your service." She bowed deeply, the gazes of both of her parents upon her.

"Elizabeth," her mother said with affection, slowly standing from her throne to embrace her. "It has been too long, child."

She was ashamed to admit that the smile that spread across her face was a genuine one; she had always loved her mother in her own twisted way. Her father however, there was no place in a heart like hers for that particular emotion.

Noting Jemma's pale complexion, her mother raised a hand to her cheek.

"What is it, daughter-mine? What is troubling you?" She smiled. "Has he hurt you? Tell me of your woes and sorrows." The smile on her face was a façade that even the most merciless of criminals could not resist, and had Jemma not of grown under her guidance most likely she would have fallen folly as well.

The way she was raised was different then others around her. Her mother, a daughter of one of the most powerful ninja clans of Japan, valued older traditions. The way that the three of them spoke had to be fluid and powerful, she wanted men to kneel before her bewitching words. Jemma was raised with a book upon her head, and deception in her eyes. Her mother crafted her to be a role model for others involved with the black market. Even though she left them crippled, her status was still there, and unfortunately for Fitz she would have to take control of the organization when her parents die. She had been planning on exposing the whole thing but she knew that a world war would break out if she did.

She glanced over her mother's shoulder, her eyes meeting her father's.

"I wish to speak with father, mother-mine. I have news that would utterly intrigue him," she said, her sophisticated accent coming into play.

When her mother had figured out that she was a genius, they sent her to Oxford at age thirteen, graduating with two PhDs at the age of seventeen. She had been taught an accent that reminded her of _Upstairs Downstairs, _when she was a little girl, but the tone of voice she used on a regular day she acquired upon many a trip to Sheffield. She bloody loved Sheffield.

Daniel Whitehall lifted his right hand, motioning for her to continue.

"Just yesterday, I was at a local bank and the building caught on fire," she began, her eyes slightly narrowing. "Yesterday eve, I had a job. You knew that I would be at that bank, I never participate in prostitution jobs without those gold earrings, they hold all of my poisons." She glared at him, her voice erupting in a way her mother had taught her. "Why would you send Abu Sayyaf? They basically murdered Bobbi, and you said to me-"

She cried out in pain as the knife sank into the back of her hand, capturing her lip with her teeth as she kept her curses to herself.

"Do not speak that way," her mother warned, a deadly glint in her eyes as she held the bloodied knife over her palm. "The next time you do, I will not be as kind. You may no longer live under my roof, _Elizabeth, _but you still play by my rules. Do not think that you are away from my gaze because you never will be."

Jemma gasped, blinking rapidly as she tried to keep her tears from escaping. "Hail, mother-mine!" she began, the authority of her days in the mansion in her voice. "I am your heir, I am bound to your rules, and I will not forsake them. Hail Raina-queen! Hail Hydra!"

Immediately, her mother's warm smile returned, and had it not been for the blood escaping her hand, she would have assumed that everything was all right. "I am thrilled that you remember the words I taught you years ago, now teach us what you believe to be true. Let us try this again." She was circling around her, dark eyes scanning her porcelain figure.

Jemma bowed deeply, her long emerald dress brushing the floor. "Elizabeth Whitehall, at your service."

"_Begin," _her father commanded.

She began her story.

~(~

_2010 (three days after Bobbi's death)_

When she had told him who she really was, he kicked her out for two days. It was a silent command that she accepted, and she thought that she had blown the chances of them ever reconciling what they had.

Thankfully, she was wrong. He called her at the end of the second day, begging her to come back to him and that he was so sorry for treating her that way. He said that he loved her more than anyone, and she said it back.

The next day they were walking to a small café nearby, hands intertwined as she reviewed the customs of her mother.

"Remember not to correct her, or use rebellious speech. She will not be afraid to strike you. When we first arrive follow my lead." She realized that he had stopped walking, and she turned to kiss him, hands sinking in his hair. "You are going to be okay, da?"

He nodded, and they entered the small building. She was siting in the far corner, a short flowered dress replacing her normally long and exuberant gowns. Jemma bowed her head, and he did the same.

"Elizabeth Whitehall," she murmured, carefully watching Fitz out of the corner of her eye. "At your service."

Her mother nodded, a small smile at her lips. "Hail Hydra."

Jemma slightly stiffened, and had he not of spent months studying her movements he would not have noticed at all.

"Hail Hydra," she whispered back.

He cleared his throat. "Leopold Fitz, at ye service."

She nodded respectably.

They took their seats, and as the meal progressed he knew that if it were to kill him, at least he would die protecting Jemma Simmons from the horrid monster that was her mother. He could not even begin to imagine what her father would be like.

~(~

_Present Day (three hours after Jemma's encounter in her family home.)_

He was in the middle of watching his program when he heard the soft knock at the door. Cursing under his breath, he stood, padding to the door and opening it. He was surprised to find the young woman on his front porch.

"Is this where Dr. Jemma Fitz lives?" she asked nervously.

He blinked. "Yeah, she uh will be back in an hour or so." He paused for a moment before adding nervously, "Ye can come in if ye'd like."

She smiled. "Thank you, I'm Skye Coulson, by the way. My dad has told me stories of you, you sound very brave."

His mouth formed an o in understanding. "Actually Jemma's technically braver. She's been dealing with a ton of shite all o' her life." He chuckled, and her smile became brighter. He moved out of the doorway. "Come on in and sit down, I'll get ye a beer."

She followed him in and sat down, noting her surroundings. Her father had told her stories of the heroic Leo and Jemma Fitz not living up to their quaint town home, decorated with a classic modern twist that fit his personality so well. He did not seem like the savior of lives, rather like a man who was enchanted by a woman. Her father had told her stories of the love that he shared with his wife; it was something so special that not even the most dramatic event could destroy it. She had never believed him when he told her the stories, but as she sat in his kitchen, she was slowly beginning to believe.

"Now, wha'-" he began, cut off by the strangled sob coming from the hallway.

"_Jemma!" _he yelled, rushing from the fridge to the hallway to wrap his arms around her torso. He led her into the kitchen and Skye kept silent, watching these new events unfold.

"I told ye it wasn' gonne go ova well," he growled, worriedly searching the cabinets for a first aid kit.

"As soon as I brought up Abu Sayyaf, mother lashed out," she muttered, wincing in pain as he returned with an antibiotic.

"It's gonne scar, Jems. Did she get ye anywhere else?"

She nodded, her lower lip trembling.

His eyes widened in mourning. "Oh no. Jemma please donne tell me-"

"She called on Sitwell to rape me!" she wailed, collapsing in his arms.

"Oh, Jemma," he responded, cradling her to his chest as he glanced at Skye who was staring at him as if she were a deer caught in the headlights.

"Jemma, love," he said softly, running his fingers through her hair. "We have a visitor, lass. Can ye wait a wee bit longer?"

She nodded into his shoulder, pulling her face upwards to look at Skye.

She cleared her throat. "Hello there, dear. I'm terribly sorry about all of this, I am normally put together."

Skye nodded in understanding. "You were with my mom when she died, yes?"

Jemma nodded weakly.

"Well then, Dr. Fitz." She glared at her with a ferocity to match her own. "When do we start?"

~(~

**So, I watched Selma yesterday, and may we all take a moment of silence for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who will forever and always be an inspiration to people like me. Thank you, sir. Thank you to all who have reviewed so far, please continue to provide me insight with what you want to see out of this as I would like to add Triplett into this story somehow, but I have no clue how. Cheers! xx**


	4. And You Kept Me To Yourself

** Hey guys! I'm back with the next installment, and I hope you enjoy this part. I'm so sorry that it took a while to update, but real life got in the way. If things seemed kind of rushed in the last chapter, it will be explained here. Thank you for reading! Xx**

~(~

"_You are calm and reposed_

_Let your beauty unfold_

_Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones_

_Skin keeps you ever close_

_You are second hand smoke_

_You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins_

_Holding on to yourself the best you can_

_You are the smell before rain_

_You are the blood in my veins."_

**Brand New, "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot."**

~(~

_2010 (two months after the meeting in the café)_

He knew that his lover had attracted multitudes of admirers in the past, but he had not expected to find her passionately kissing his boss, especially after she had been presumed dead more than twenty years previous to this encounter.

"_Audrey?" _he exclaimed in disbelief, amazed at her youthful appearance.

His supposed lover immediately shot backward, her head bowed as he stared at her. The similarities were immense, and even though he was a married man he could not help the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach.

She cleared her throat, eyes stinging as she stared at the man.

"How do you know that name?" her question was innocent enough, but the carefree British accent sounded forced, something that she had once done with an American accent.

His heart skipped a beat.

"How could you not remember me? Audrey we were lovers, you used to say that we were intertwined in Portland, remember?"

She parted her lips slightly, eyes calculating.

"_Wie heißt du?" _she asked, her tongue easily flowing into her native German, accent returning without so much of a thought.

"Phil Coulson," he replied.

She had taught him German, she had told him all of the stories of the horrors that was her childhood and how she never wanted him to be exposed to anything that drastic.

She pursed her lips. _"Ich heiße Jemma Simmons, aber ich heiße auch Elizabeth Whitehall. Meine Schwester hat Catherine geheißt, aber ich habe ihr Audrey genannt. Sie ist im Autounfall getöten."_

She inhaled. "She was actually murdered," she continued, flawlessly switching to English as she took in his confused face. "Father thought that she was getting too rebellious. She had been sent to murder you, but she fell in love with you instead." She grabbed his boss' hand. "I was young then, probably about four when she died. I don't remember much about her, though I do remember the uproar she caused among my parents, it was _so_ scandalous. After she died, they set me up to hack my first camera feed, and I erased the feed as our cleaners staged the accident, lighting the car on fire for a dramatic effect." She smiled at him. "I was a promising child."

He opened his mouth, but she silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips, and though she could not see it, she expected her lover's face to be one of rage.

"Say no more, and though it is hard, banish any thoughts of my sister form your mind, you have a family now."

She smiled at him one last time, and grabbing the hand of his boss, she walked away.

~(~

_Present Day_

"Excuse me?"

Jemma slightly shook her head, wincing in pain as her husband readjusted the gauze around her hand. His free arm was lazily wrapped around her waist, eyes fixated upon Skye as she flushed with embarrassment.

"Absolutely not," she stated, flames dancing behind her irises.

Skye scoffed. "Why not? I'm getting revenge for my family. That's bound to convince anyone of anything."

Fitz shook his head. "We would need to train ye," he responded. "Ye canne go in there if ye have no trainin.'"

Skye rigorously shook her head.

"So, I don't need training. Just a motive right? Hell I could be a prostitute for all I care." She whimpered. "Please. For the love of God, let me help."

Jemma twisted her lower lip in between her teeth, eyes calculating. "I think I know a guy who could get you in, he has been keeping me updated on the bleeding horrors my father has been scheming."

She moved to get up, but her husband's grip on her tightened.

"Fitz, honestly it's not like this is the first time I've been tortured. I can handle walking from here to my study." She rolled her eyes at him as he furrowed his brows in concern.

"I'll get it, yeah. Wha' do ye need?"

She winced as a sharp pain punctured her ribs. "The gray box."

He nodded curtly, dropping his arm from around her waist and stalking out of the room.

Skye's face contorted into a look of confusion.

"What the hell is a gray box?"

Jemma chuckled. "You ask good questions Skye, but not the right ones." She pursed her lips. "You say you want revenge for your family, but I believe that this runs deeper than that." Narrowing her eyes, she straightened her spine. "Tell me your troubles and woes."

Though she believed it unseen, Skye looked upon Jemma with a disbelieving look. "How did you –"

She laughed. "My mother has a gift when it comes to cracking people, she uses her methods to damage one's psyche, and she taught me her tricks of the trade." Noting Skye's horrified expression she continued, "No! I did not shove a needle through your head! Hell no, I just read your body language, god."

Skye laughed. "Good because the man that loves me is stuck inside your voodoo guild and I promised to break him out, and that would be hard to do if I was a slave to Mrs. Princess over here."

Jemma furrowed her brow. "What is his name? I may have known him."

"His name is Grant Ward."

"_Shite!" _yelled a Scottish voice, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

The pounding of his feet against the hardwood floor caused her to jump off of the table wincing as a sharp pain erupted through her ribs.

"We've been made!" her husband yelled, sprinting into the room with two duffle bags over his shoulder.

"Oh bloody hell," cursed his equally infuriated wife as she grabbed a gun out of the top drawer of the counter and loaded it.

"Did ye make sure no one was tailing ye?" Fitz asked angrily, hands threading through his curls as he tucked Jemma under his arm and pushed open the door.

"No!" Skye exclaimed as the sound of gunshots followed them. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Simmons and I are heading ta one o' our various safe houses, I donne know about ye," he replied gruffly, shielding his precious jewel as a bullet whizzed past her ear.

"Fitz!" she said, grabbing his chin so that he stared her in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere without her."

He groaned in reply, and with his spare arm he guided Skye to the white car parked a few blocks down from their home.

"We're gonna hav' ta ditch this one after an hour o' so."

Jemma nodded in response and allowed herself to be escorted into the front seat, Skye swiftly hopping into the backseat, gently laying the duffle bags underneath per Fitz's request.

"Where are we going?" Skye asked four hours and two cars later, eyes glued to the way Jemma's head rested so easily on his shoulder.

"Somewhere… _exotic."_

~(~

_New Years Eve 2010_

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Jemma was amused to find Fitz's jealous expression aimed her way as she socialized with the man in front of her.

"It's been a long time Liz," the African-American man said, kissing her soundly on her red lips.

She could feel the rage radiating off of her lover as she kissed him back, smiling against his lips as he began to chuckle. She pulled back three seconds later, and he kept his hold on her waist.

"Are you going to introduce me to your lover?" he asked, his voice a whisper in her ear.

She tensed in his arms, her long red dress catching in the breeze. "How do you know?" she whispered back.

He chuckled. "Please, I can feel the jealousy from here, it's honestly not that hard to hide." Noting the look of fear on her face, he squeezed her tighter. "Relax Liz, you know that my loyalties lie with you, and only with you."

She smiled genuinely, and lightly pressed another kiss to his lips, to anyone else it would seem as if they were romantically involved, but ever since they were young children, they sealed their friendship with kisses and nights spent in jazz bars. It was one of the things she admired about him; he never chose to pursue her, instead choosing to let her make her own decisions. He was the first person to allow her to do that, and he had a special place in her heart.

Turning around in his embrace, she boldly called over her shoulder, "Leo, love, come here."

She watched him swiftly walk towards her, and when he arrived she stepped out of her oldest friend's embrace, and settled under her lover's arm.

"This is Leo Fitz," she began, eyes glancing at him lovingly. "He's the police commissioner here." She smirked. "He also happens to be my plus one."

He scowled at her, and it took all of her control to refrain from kissing the look away. She had never really had someone to fight for, and she wanted him to know that she did love him and she always will.

"This," she continued as if nothing had happened. "Is Antoine Triplett, my oldest and dearest friend. He also happens to be one of my bodyguards from Hydra, but you know that detail is tedious." She smiled sweetly at the pair of men. "I hope you boys play nicely." With that, she stalked off.

He did not like Fitz at first. To him he seemed rather single minded, and although he was a genius, that much he could tell by the way his hands moved, he was not sure if he was right for Jemma. When they parted ways after little small talk fifteen minutes later, he headed to the bathroom after five minutes, and was surprised to hear the ruffling of clothes in the handicapped stall.

He tried to make his presence unknown as a man started to grunt, a feminine voice in return moaning in pleasure. He knew that he should have left the room before things escalated, but as the grunts became louder, and curses started to string from the woman's mouth, he realized that the mystery woman was Liz, and god be damned if he refused her happiness.

After quickly taking care of the bulge in his pants, he left the pair to their musings.

~(~

_Present Day_

Skye was nearly asleep when Fitz pulled before the mansion, Jemma lightly squeezing his arm as an act of strength before they walked into the house.

The mansion sat on the beach, modern rooms decorating the lively home. She nearly missed the man in the chair seated furthest from the window, glass in had as he silently sipped his cocktail. He was rather dapper, and though he had not said a word Skye could tell that he was rather charming as well.

"Skye," Jemma's voice rang from behind her. "This is Antoine Triplett, your ride to Hydra."

~(~

**So thank you everyone for all of the reviews I have gotten recently, and keep with the feedback, I'm never sure if anyone actually reads this honestly. Thank you Spitfire for asking if Trip could be an inside man on the mission, and I hope this is everything you could have asked for and more. I'll try to update ASAP but unfortunately I'm not making any promises. Cheers! xx**


	5. And The story of us looks a lot like a

** Yay I'm back! My mind is such a mess right now, I have so many plot ideas that I want to use and uggggggh. This story should probably have four or five more chapters, I'm thinking of going out with a bang so I can use this world whenever I want later on. Some projects that I'm working on right now: **_**Mud-Luscious and Puddle-Wonderful, **_**which is this doctor who au about a sleepy Pennsylvania town and some interesting secrets (this one is going to be a blast.) and of course **_**Sorrow Floats, **_**which contains a series of drabbles based off of songs relating to Fitzsimons. Also, I am beginning this story called **_**Standing Still, **_**which relies heavily on the event that happens in my drabble **_**Hands **_**which I posted yesterday. I am looking for a beta, and though I already have one person in mind, it would be lovely if anyone who is interested would PM me, I have other things that you could beta as well. And, as always if you have any Agents of SHIELD prompts, PM them to me. I feel like I am not doing a very good job of posting things that my audience would like to read so enlighten me with things that you would actually like to read. Any how, enough about me. I hope you guys enjoy this next installment as things get a wee bit heated. **

~(~

_You will comply._

_Chapter 5: And The Story Of Us Looks A Lot Like A Tragedy Now_

~(~

_The Kidnapping_

"Jemma!" Fitz cried as she stabbed one of the men in the chest, eyes ablaze as she kicked another.

He was still uncertain as to how they found them; they knew that Trip had been under surveillance due to his close relationship with Jemma, and while they had moved locations every few hours, it was still extremely odd to have been tracked all of this way. They had been eating when the first man flung through the window, screwing any element of surprise that the ops team had wanted to maintain. Fitz was sure that had Jemma not have already disposed of him, her father would have killed him in a way that would make Jemma's manner look like a blessing. She had a way to do things like that, he had discovered early on. She made killing so graceful when it should have been deemed such a horrific deed.

She threw him a gun as she broke another man's neck, and though the screams were stifled he still made enough noise for the rest of her father's goons to be alerted of their presence. He began to fire as more men appeared in the doorway, screaming for his wife to duck as a bullet whizzed past her ear. She may have been shot before, but he would not be able to live with himself if she were shot again. He had made a vow to her on their wedding night; he vowed to protect her from harm at all costs. He was doing a questionable job of it now he mused as a man stabbed her in her left calf, screams convulsing out of her rib cage as a man wrapped his arms around her.

"Let 'er go!" Fitz cried as Jemma fought like a warrior, arms flailing as the man stabbed her once more.

"_Jemma!" _he screamed again, tears filling his eyes as the man began to drag her away.

They shot him in the shoulder before they left, one man spreading gasoline upon the hardwood floors, carefully lighting a match and dropping it, sprinting out of the room as the flames began to envelope him.

Later on he would admit that he was surprised that he made it out of there alive, a bleeding man basically army crawling out of the sliding glass door in the back of the house, taking cover under a tree as the building exploded. He managed to crawl his way to a neighboring car, and by then had he been anyone other than himself, he most likely would have bled out.

By luck, there was a first aid kit in the glove compartment of the car, and as he poorly administered first aid to himself, he could not keep his mind off of Jemma, her ghastly face and horrific screams as they dragged her back to the hellhole where she came from.

Swearing to God that he would avenge those sons of bitches who took her from him, he slipped into the drivers seat, and pulled away.

~(~

_Twenty-three hours before the kidnapping _

"You'll be fine Skye," Jemma reassured, eyes trailing her husband as he set her bags in the car.

Skye chuckled. "That's a far jump from the beginning, Jemma."

She nodded grimly. They had arrived three days ago, and after multitudes of training and minimum allotted sleep, Trip decided that she was ready. She had a natural ability to lie, and though her self-defense mechanisms were limited, she was exceptionally good with technology, and seeing that Jemma had murdered their best technician there was an opening for her.

Biting her lip, Jemma said, "We should have a quick run through though, my mother is exceptionally smart and she'll be able to pick the lies out from underneath of you."

Skye nodded in response. "My name is Daisy Johnson, I'm 23 and a computer whiz. Graduated from MIT with a Masters, and I have several teacher recommendations. I'm looking for a position in Cybertek, and I can –"

"_Sprechen sie Deutsch?" _Jemma interrupted, accent fading to her native German.

"_Ja, ich spreche Deutsch," _Skye replied.

Jemma smiled. "Good, they are going to speak to you for a little while longer, but I think that you know the basic conjugations, you are familiar with the future and past tenses, but just in case, use _sein _for moving and _haben _for everything else." Smiling once more, she hugged her. "You are going to be fine."

"I know," Skye replied, eyes calculating. Pulling away, she shook her head. "You worry too much."

She stalked away, and Jemma's attention turned to Trip. "I'm going to miss you, old man," she said, arms circling his waist as he chuckled.

"You know, one day we should go to Cancun or something," he responded, lazily pulling a wisp of her hair behind her left ear.

"That sounds wonderful, Antoine." She leaned forward and kissed him, and though she could feel her husband's eyes upon her, she allowed the motion to drag on. Pulling away, she stepped backwards, Fitz swiftly wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

At first she had trained to be Trip's mistress, but after the realization that she was a genius when I came to technology, they altered their plans. Trip held a position in the inner ring of Cybertek, one of the companies Jemma's father had founded. He planned on hiring Skye as his assistant, immediately giving her a high clearance level, and access to _Hydra _whenever she required their services. She admitted to her association with The Rising Tide, a group of hackers' hell bent on causing terror to civilian populations. Fitz and Jemma had calculated that with Skye's association with crime before, she would be a rising star in the _Hydra _underworld.

Smiling, the couple held hands as Trip and Skye drove off.

~(~

_July 2012_

Jemma skidded across the floor, bruises covering her face as she flung herself towards her father's feet.

"You have asked for my council," her father stated. If she did not know him better she would have assumed that the expression he wore was one of slight amusement.

She nodded gravely. "It's Sitwell father," she began, eyes locked onto his. "He has always been a son of a bitch but more recently he has been out of control. He returns to our chambers smelling of meth and alcohol, and though he has always cheated on me I am finding more and more of my handmaidens under him then I have ever seen before. I cannot take this injustice to our relationship anymore father-mine. I ask for you to break off the engagement."

Her father raised his eyebrows. "For what cause? So you can saunter away with that policeman of yours? I know what you have been keeping from me; your mother told me the moment she found out. If I were any less of a man I would have you beaten to a shriveling wretch by your mother. If you were not my only child I would have you murdered in the night like your beloved sister Audrea, but unfortunately I need an heir if I desire this business to continue." He paused, and though Jemma refused for a glimmer of emotion to appear on her face, she knew that he saw right through her.

"There are many things that could go wrong with a relationship as intimate as yours," he continued, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes. "However there are certain things that could come of this that would be beneficial to our organization as well. I will allow you to break off your engagement with Sitwell and wed your beloved police officer on one condition. We must be able to go about our business in New York as if there were no limits. We must rise above the law."

Noting his daughter's pained expression, he chuckled. "And if you cannot convince him to allow this, or if you break our promise at any point during your years together, your relationship will be exterminated immediately and I will have you back in the hell holes where we raised you. Wildflowers only grow in deserts darling, never forget who made you what you are today, because you can run, and you can hide, but you can never escape us." He smiled. "Cut off one head, and two more grow in its place. Hail, _Hydra._"

And as if she were a broken record, Jemma replied. "Hail, _Hydra!" _

Her father chuckled once more. "Do not forget that we can always make you comply, daughter-mine."

Jemma nodded, and ran.

~(~

_2 hours after the kidnapping_

"Trip," Fitz said, eyes searching the area as he drove past, praying to find a flash of brown hair or sparkling amber eyes.

"What is it, Fitz." His voice bled through the stereo of the Lamborghini, a whisper in comparison to Fitz's desperate cries.

"They have Jemma," he replied gravely, tears blurring his vision as he drove.

"_I know," _responded a different voice, and though he had never heard the man before, he knew who he was immediately.

"Grant Ward!?" He cried in disbelief, accent thickening as his voice cracked.

The man in question chuckled, and he heard Skye's desperate voice in the background, "Goddamn it Fitz it's a trap! I swear I didn't know I fucking swear!"

Her believed boyfriend cut her off, and he chuckled in response. "Did you honestly believe that you had outsmarted us? You may be a genius but when it comes to anything around your beloved assassin you become so blind. If you want her back, which knowing you, you will, I recommend that we make a trade. The gray box, for Princess Whitehall. You have six hours to complete the transaction as I am well aware that you know where we are located."

He turned the recording off before the car finished tracing the signal, and to Leopold Fitz, hunched over the steering wheel with a bundle of gauze tapped carelessly to his left shoulder, it looked like there was no way he would be able to save his beloved alive.

~(~

**Once again I am so sorry that this took forever to be uploaded, I just have so many stories that I am working on right now. How did everyone like it? Please review, your words really do mean the world to me. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up by next weekend, although you never know with me. It snowed here so have a lovely snow day if it snowed where you live. xx**


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